


Strike At Witching Hour

by AngrySapphicHeda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Altenative Universe - Witches, Clarke is older than Lexa, F/F, Familiar Anya, Familiar Raven, Fanart, Ficlet Collection, Non-Linear Narrative, Not that I'm trying to make it accurate, Supernatural Elements, There is a lot of historic innacuracy, Witch Lexa, Witch Madi, Witchhunter Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngrySapphicHeda/pseuds/AngrySapphicHeda
Summary: Clarke is a witchunter, traveling to the town of Polis after its distressed Mayor pleads with her to save the habitants from a dark witch who threatens them in the dark of the night. Enter his daughter, eighteen year old Lexa, who's only allowed to visit the church and lives under the watchful eye of her father and the pastor.This is a mainly just a collection of little ficlets (and sometimes drawing) I've been creating for this AU. I won't be uploading full chapter and the ficlets might not be in order - just a heads up!
Relationships: Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	1. Clarke arrives at Polis (1)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I've been playing around with this AU for a big while now (years even) and I enjoy writing a ficlet for it here and there and I immensely enjoy playing with the mood and ambience of this AU. I have a lot of lore for this little world created so if you enjoy it and want to know about something a bit more, I can try and write a ficlet that explains it :D
> 
> I will try my best to number each ficlet as they come in case anyone wants to know where each fall on the timeline!
> 
> Enjoy! :D

There’s something here. Something evil. 

Clarke let’s her legs walk her forward as her mind follows her eyes around the entrance of the small isolated town. Polis seems unusually quiet for the time of the day, the sun just having gone down. No one stands on the streets, all the labor done earlier to avoid whatever is terrorizing the habitants. The lights visible through the windows are low, even the flames of the candles showing fear. 

On a bare tree, a crow caws, a warning, specifically directed at Clarke to focus. 

“Uh, mister, I should warn you to go inside." Clarke turns around. A man - no, a boy, barely a teenager but strongly built - is the one who warns her, coming out of the stables. "It’s not safe around these parts at night. Something evil roams around here! Something very evil!” and then, seemingly more as a reminder to themselves, a whispered “It is not safe.” He keeps moving, fast and broad steps towards the safety of his house. 

“Boy, where can I find Mayor Woods?” Clarke has to raise her voice as he quickly makes his way up the small hill of stone and wood houses and reaches a door.

He stops for a second, registering her voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry miss!” He apologizes, but Clarke waves him off, not caring, “Straight up, last house at the top, before the woods. But miss, I would hurry, it’s not safe.” The boy warns one last time before opening the door.

The windows are closed but once the door opens, the inside of the house is bright. From deep in the house Clarke hears a woman, the boy’s mother, yell a distressed and faint ‘come inside and close the door Aden, quickly!’. The boy looks one last time at her before stepping inside.

“Thank you.” Clarke yells behind him as she starts to move uphill.

Aden gives her a shy smile before his name is yelled again and the door closes audibly. She stares at it, riveted by memories of a life long gone. And then, silence, once more. Deafening silence. Another caw. This time, the crow sits at the top of the boy’s house, staring at her.

“I know, I know, I’m going.” 

Pleased with the answer, the animal takes flight, disappearing between the branches and roofs of Polis.

Behind drawn curtains and closed shutters, Clarke feels eyes on her. Untrusted eyes. The air is heavy with dread and pure fear. Mentally, she skims through the words the letter sent by Mayor Woods read. Suspicion of a witch, two dead, cattle ripped open, dark, satanic symbols in the forest and townsfolk too afraid to step foot outside after sundown.

As she walks further up hill, her steps are the only man-made sound she can hear. For a town with around two hundred people, that’s awfully quiet. She reaches the town’s center without realizing. The church is bright with the candles inside but no sound of prayer comes from it. Seems fear has people praying from the safety of their house. In front of it, just to the side of a fountain, stands a gallow. From it, dangles a body. It doesn’t make Clarke flinch. She has watched the scene live more than once, shoved many up those stairs to their cursed death. The heavy, lifeless bodies don’t bother her anymore, but the cries of the hellish souls never quite leave her.

The sound of a door opening and heavy steps startle her, hand finds the small flintlock hidden by her long coat with ease, breathing heavy, and her whole body goes into fight mode. 

“Pardon me child, I did not mean to startle you.” 

Clarke lets her stance appear more approachable as no danger shows. In its place, the pastor makes himself seen. He’s a big fellow with a stoic face. His voice is monotone, soft but with intent. Clarke’s body doesn’t fully relax after taking his image in. She sees right through him, one of the many gifts she possesses. His holiness is not pure. 

“Good evening Father. It makes no odds, I was distracted.” Clarke reassures, spearing one last look at the body. 

The dark hair blown away with the light wind, revealing the face of a girl who had just reached womanhood. Her breathing itches slightly. It’s always harder to look when those who choose the devil’s side do it at such a ripe age.

“I must advise you not to stay outside closed doors for long, child. The devil has plagued Polis with one of his minions and made it it's playground; death is at every corner.” The pastor walks towards her as he speaks, his hands hidden behind his back and his steps, calculated and slow, maybe due to his built, have the fabric making a very characteristic swooshing sound. And, despite the low light, the man walks like he can see her fully, clearly.

“That’s just the reason why I stand here, Mayor Woods summoned me to Polis.” Clarke’s voice is strong, showing confidence. 

The man finally reaches her, towering over her by some five inches. Clarke crocks her head slightly up, shoulders straight. 

“Ah yes, the Lord has gifted us with the best witch hunter around the county. Quite the accomplishment for someone of your…” he pauses, swallowing disgustingly, “preconditions.” He offers a fake affiliative smile, his eyes aiming down at the edge of the cotton shirt that starts not very conservatively at the curve of her chest.

“I’m a strong believer that the best man for the job is a woman, Father.” Her answer is harsh, more so than she would have liked with a member of the church; she prefers to build their trust as these are the men who know the in and outs of their community. Yet, apart from a slight lock of the jaw, the comment doesn’t seem to phase the holy man too much.

“You are here to see Mayor Woods, isn’t that so child?” He asks, as if the start of their conversation was forgotten. His voice is drowsy, eyes still not looking into her own.

Clarke clears her throat, responding harshly, “Yes, father.”

His eyes return to her face, slowly, making a show of it. It's a show of dominance and he is guaranteeing his is established. He has yet to learn that no one dominates Clarke Griffin, the Witch Hunter. No witch or demon. No man. No woman. 

“I will walk you then. The Lord is all around us but in these circumstances, I believe having him even closer would be best.” 

Clarke nods, agreeing, although begrudgingly. In the distance she hears another caw of a crow, sounding far too much like a laugh for her taste. 

They walk in silence, Clarke’s steps less broad than before as she tries not to walk ahead of the pastor’s smaller, restricted ones. As they walk, Clarke feels eyes on her again, more attentive this time. Despite the lack of sound, Polis is awake. Curious eyes peek through holes in the wood of the shutters and the fabric of the blinds as their shepherd walks the armed stranger to the house of their governor. 

Much like in every other town like this, the Mayor’s house is slightly bigger than the rest, a quick walk away from the townhouse, the church and the tavern. On the roof, ever-attentive, sits the crow. Clarke spares it a glance before meeting the pastor already at the door.

As she approaches, the man knocks three times on the wooden door, not allowing time for anyone to answer before opening it and stepping in. Clarke doesn’t comment and walks behind him. The man stops at the center of the hall, looking around.

“Titus? Clarke Griffin, the witch hunter has arrived.” He calls, body turned to a wide entrance where the shadows of a dancing flame moves around. As he says her full name, Clarke realizes she never shared that detail with him, but doesn't dwell on it much. A chair is dragged backwards, the dead silence right after giving away the regret of the noise the abrupt arise made. 

“Come on in Pastor and bring her with you.” His voice lacks confidence; lack of sleep, maybe. There are soft sounds of paper moving, cloth and something metallic hitting against itself.

“I must return to the church, Titus. Hastily in fact, before the beast strikes again.” The man seems to be abruptly in a hurry, as if he knows something others don't. 

“Very well then. Grace be with you Father.” The movement stops and there’s a defeated sigh. Clarke has the decency of feeling bad for mam standing in the next room over. 

“Grace be with you Titus.” He turns back around, into the cold silence of the town, “Grace be with you… Witch hunter.” An uneasy smile settles on his face before a sound coming from the stairway grabs both of their attention . 

Clarke stares up at the dark corridor above them. A light emanating from a hand held candlestick reveals a girl. Her features are barely visible, but she looks young, the white sleeping gown and small stature in full view. 

“Grace be with you Lexa. I’ll await you tomorrow morning.” The smile the pastor had given her turns bigger and predatory.

“I’ll be there Father, as always. Grace be with you.” The voice that leaves the girl is more mature than Clarke first expected.

The pastor nods, smiling now only to himself, and leaves without another word. Clarke stands still, staring at the girl on top of the stairs. She stares back, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes move around Clarke’s body, from her now visible flintlock, to the musket strapped on her back, the dirty, brown leather saddle bag thrown over her shoulder, the straps of her long jacket that close on a silver crucifix across her chest. It takes Clarke a minute to realize the shine in the girl’s green eyes isn’t exclusively the flame’s doing.

“Witchhunter, feel free to come in.” The Mayor’s voice, from inside the next room over, says, a hint of concern for Clarke’s lack of movement.

“Of course, pardon me.” Clarke hastily responds, walking to the room but not before sparing one last look at the corridor above the staircase.

In it, she only finds the light of the candle disappearing.


	2. Lexa and Clarke in the Forest (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa accompanies Clarke to the woods and learns a thing or two about witches from the huntress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> First of all I want to thank those of you who took an interest in this :D  
> There are still a couple ficlets between the first one I posted and this one, so there will be more of them officially meeting and such in the future!  
> At the end there's 2 drawings depicting Lexa and Clarke in this AU drawn by me as I enjoy drawing them a lot :D  
> Happy readings!

The forest is unlike any other Clarke has ever been in. There’s something about the way all the trees look identical and stand tall over her head, wrapping around one another, the distinction between a real face and a particularly human-like twist of branches giving it a weary feel. The tall tops, touching one another block out the sky above, allowing only the occasional beam of moonlight to shine through them, causing the whole path to become just a mix of black nothingness and shining pallid moonlight. Not only that but there is an absence of sound. That’s what truly concerns Clarke. Forests are full of sound, full of life, even in the dead of the night. When there is none, it means danger is eminent. Fortunately, danger is what Clarke lives for. 

A full day's work weighs on her mind, the slow process of coaxing frightened citizens to share information and suspicions when they fear they might be next is always monotonous and exhausting work, although extremely necessary. Clarke does not wish to sentence innocents for a sin they do not carry. Witches rarely stay inside closed walls during a full moon, too much power is to be harnessed from it to let one go by. The dark woods are the logical place to go, as so many of the people of Polis referred to it as an evil breeding ground, from haunting howls sounding too human to be fully wolf and ghostly, disembodied whispers as one walks through it, to the entrance of a cave that some consider to be the entrance to hell, where the air is heavy and stuffy and many swear to have seen demons enter, hooves for feet and sharp horns resting on top of their head. 

A break of a twig behind her almost makes Clarke jump. Reaching for the gun strapped to her hip, Clarke turns around, facing the younger girl she had forgotten she had been forced to walk amongst the dead forest with. Her hand immediately dropped from her gun and the adrenaline is replaced with annoyance. 

“Pardon me, I wasn’t paying attention to where my feet were going.”

“Next time, look. It’s dangerous out here and if you mess this up, both of us could end up killed.” 

Clarke feels herself being too harsh on the sheltered girl. Lexa had begged both her and her father to let her come with the witch hunter on the job as the younger girl knew the woods that saw her grow like the back of her own hand. Her father had been hesitant but eventually caved in and Clarke followed suit, but not before an increase in payment by the mayor, of course, as well as a stern threat about maintaining the safety of his daughter. Overall, Clarke not only prefers but insists on working alone. Other than Raven, most of the time in her crow form, she doesn’t need a companion. This job is dangerously life threatening and the huntress was not about to feel responsible for things that happened to another party when with her on the hunt. But if trotting around the woods with Lexa for a single night of scouting meant a raise in payment, so be it.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be more mindful of where I place my step.” Lexa apologizes once more, looking down for a second in embarrassment.

Clarke simply nods and turns back around as they continue their journey through the dark forest.

Truth is, Lexa can barely bring herself to feel sorry for more than a minute. Not only was she being allowed out of the house outside of her church duties but she was walking in the forest to catch a witch with a real Witch Hunter. She must admit that being fascinated by witchcraft isn’t very becoming of a Christian girl but she has no interest in delving into the dark arts, heavens no! She’s simply fascinated by what could the devil have to offer that would make young, pure, respectable girls let him take the Lord’s place in their heart. But these are the kind of contemplations she’s not allowed to express, must the pastor come to learn it somehow and she would spend a whole afternoon repenting for her sinful questions. 

Still, it’s the company of the huntress that excites her the most. Lexa is not allowed to have guests over. Or be a guest at someone else’s home. Her father is protective like that. The more racional part of her understands, her health is very frail at times and with her mother gone and as the only offspring of the Mayor she must be either at home or at church attending to her duties. The emotional part, the one her father has taught her to conceal from others, still longs for a friend, a confidant she can talk to besides her father and the pastor. But Clarke is proving herself not to be interested in such a role. That’s fine, Lexa could deal with just being an acquaintance. That is already one more than she had before. 

A noise from beyond where her eye can see startles Lexa, breaking her from her thoughts as she takes long steps to walk more closely to Clarke. The huntress turns her head slightly to the side, clearly side eyeing Lexa but doesn’t fully acknowledge the closeness between their bodies as they walk. 

It takes them another hour or so to reach a small clearing and Lexa feels her feet hurting but the excitement of her circumstances alleviate the pain. Clarke stops abruptly once they reach their destination causing Lexa, who was now attentively looking at her step, afraid to cause another unwelcomed sound, to bump into her.

“We’ll make camp here tonight. With your presence here I don’t want to risk sleeping in the middle of the trees and have you be the next victim.” Clarke states, letting her saddle bag fall to the floor, her body following soon after. Lexa follows her lead, falling to the dirty ground underneath her with slightly more grace then her counterpart.

“Shouldn’t we make a fire?” 

“No.” Clarke simply answers, not offering further explanation.

Lexa hugs herself to protect her body from the cold without a fire to warm her. She has never spent more than a few minutes outside the house in the cold of the night and her body certainly isn’t used to the piercing cold the woods offer. Her company seems to be perfectly alright with the chilly night’s air penetrating into her bones. Clarke simply sits, all senses alert as she attentively studies the darkness surrounding them. 

And Lexa studies her.

Her blond hair is dirty, some twigs and leaves poking from the top of the huntress’ hair tell Lexa that the water basin the Inn provided wasn’t used there. Her face is young, not much older than Lexa herself, and adorned by a different number of scars, two on the forehead, one just under eyes hinting at what might have been a punch and three nasty scratches on her left cheek, as if an animal had gotten just close enough with its paw to let its claws angrily fly across her skin. But it's her blue eyes that catch Lexa’s attention the most; they seem like they have seen things beyond their years. Lexa supposes that at such a young age, being a witch hunter cannot come without a few traumatizing encounters. Silently, Lexa prays for her.

“Don’t pray here, you’ll attract them.” 

Lexa’s closed eyes snap open at the whispered reprimand. She wants to ask how so, how can something holy attract darkness but the huntress’ face doesn’t invite questions thus prompting Lexa to remain silent. For a few minutes, that is.

“Miss Griffin?” 

The older woman doesn’t spare her a single glance, “Clarke. I’m not that much older than you.”

Lexa nods, apologetic, “Clarke, may I ask a question?” 

There’s a heavy, annoyed sigh from the huntress and Lexa starts to feel like an intruder in the girl’s presence, “If you promise to be quiet afterwards, then sure.”

With a deep breath, Lexa announces the question she’s been formulating and re-formotaling in her head since the first killing plagued her dear town, “Why would someone choose to follow such a path as becoming a witch?” 

“What makes you think it’s always a choice?” Clarke asks back, quietly, eyes still trained on the darkness surrounding them. 

Dumbfounded, Lexa ponders about the statement out loud, “You mean to say that some people are simply... born evil?” 

“Yes.” The huntress replies curtly.

“How?” 

“You ask a lot of questions.” Clarke accuses louder than intended before reprimanding herself mentally. She’s already slipping when she shouldn’t, not when there’s another life other than hers on the line. 

“And you barely answer any.” Lexa accuses back, at the same volume, voice lowering at the end as the huntress shushes her.

A quick sweep with the eyes around the trees that surround the clearing tells Clarke they have fortunately not attracted anything towards their voices yet, but if they don’t quiet down their luck could run out at any second. There’s still a haunting silence that hangs in the air only broken as the wind that has picked up makes the treetops whistle a menacing warning. With another sigh, Clarke decides to answer the question as briefly as she can manage.

“Some witches choose to become so, they sell their souls to the devil in exchange for magic. Some are born without a soul already, maybe a parent sold it to keep theirs or a family curse sealed their destiny. Either way, the darkness always consumes them. There’s no escaping that.” 

Blue eyes stare ahead, seemingly lost in memory. Clarke has never seen a witch, a born one or a converted one, who was able to control their magic. It would consume them whole and if they weren’t stopped, every living being that surrounds them would be killed as they descend into the madness of evil. Her own mother believed she would be able to control it, to use her magic to help those around her, only to destroy her family and herself in the process. 

“Sounds horrible.” Lexa comments, eyes too focused on the horizon, missing the swirl of emotions passing by the huntress’ face. There’s quite a few follow up questions forming inside her mind but she decides against posing them. A damned soul right from birth, no hopes of escaping, a life brought to the world condemned to slaughter. It does not sound fair to Lexa. 

The sound of things being rummaged by Clarke brings Lexa out of her contemplation of the new information she has just received. “You should lay down and take a nap.” A blanket lands on her lap and Lexa stares at the dirty material in slight disgust, “You’ll do me no good half asleep.” 

Lexa picks at the leaves and clumps of dirt embedded in the fabric and, despite her lack of tiredness, she complies with the request, laying down on the gold ground below her and tucking the blanket underneath her legs in a failed effort to spare her long black skirt from being ruined. But instead of closing her eyes, she stares at the trees above her, the branches and leaves blending with each other in the darkness, leaving no room for one to know where one tree ends and the other starts. 

The question isn’t supposed to be said out loud but it still leaves her lips as soon as she thinks about it.

“How would one know? That you are born a witch?” 

Lexa doesn’t turn to Clarke, but she feels the huntress’ eyes glued to her face.

“Most are already too far gone when they realize what is happening to them. But I have learned a way to tell beforehand, although I seldom share it with people.” 

Her head turns to stare at Clarke who seems to be caught by surprise when their eyes lock and quickly looks away. 

“Can you tell me what it is?” Sleepiness has gotten a hold of her, Lexa can hear it in her voice as it reaches her ears but she tries to fight it away.

“The devil turns red blood into black blood. Easily mistaken for an illness. I have yet to encounter a born witch that doesn’t bleed dark. Sounds familiar to you or anyone you know?”

Paralyzed underneath the filthy blanket, Lexa is barely able to shake her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it!  
> Feedback and questions are always welcomed :D  
> My tumblr is https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/  
> Thank you for reading!!!


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